Aches and Sorrows
by PervyMonk
Summary: The Courier wasn't always the person who roamed the Mojave. She had a life once before it was eaten away by two lone bullets. A Companion fic to What Happens in Vegas Gets You Shot In The Head.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, I usually try to save my author's notes for the end of the chapter but this is a sort of test run for some ideas I have for What Happens in Vegas gets You Shot in the Head. I'm working on Lola's backstory, even though I said I wasn't going to do so, and this is it written down in story form. I like most of what I have but I'm also not sure about it. So I'd like you guys to read and tell me what you like and don't like, what works and doesn't work. I want to play with the themes of karmaic reversal and redemption in the main story line and would like Lola's backstory to facilitate that.

As always, thanks for reading and concrit is greatly appreciated!

* * *

Come to think of it, all of Dolores' troubles started when her mother took in Zorro Pequeno.

Her mother is-was- a kind woman with a heart as big as the Wilcox Playa. She took in orphans of all tribes, not just those of the Judes. Dolores never wanted for brothers and sisters.

Zorro Pequeno had been a scrawny little thing when the scouts found him on the side of the road. Pale and bony with clothes far too large for him hanging off of his limbs. Bruised and bloodied in such a way that even made her father tear up. Dolores' mother tended to his wounds and sang to him while she and the other children hid in the doorway only to be chased away by the healer. When the worst of his wounds stabilized and he slept soundly, Madre called them all in to pray for him.

"Oh glorious apostle St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the name of the traitor who delivered thy beloved Master into the hands of His enemies has caused thee to be forgotten by many, but the Church honors and invokes thee universally as the patron of hopeless cases-of things despaired of. Pray for me who am so miserable; make use, I implore thee, of that particular privilege accorded thee of bringing visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need, that I may receive the consolations and succor of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations and sufferings, particularly the trial of this young boy, whose severe injuries may warrant him passage to the Father's Kingdom, and that I may bless God with thee and all the elect throughout eternity. I promise thee, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, and I will never cease to honor thee as my special and powerful patron, and to do all in my power to encourage devotion to thee. Amen."

"Amen," Dolores and the other children echoed, her eyes never leaving the barely breathing boy. He wasn't going to make it. Dolores thought that they should pray for redemption of his soul and said so to her mother. Madre smiled sadly and patted her on the head, her fingers curling gently in her dirty hair.

"Never give up hope, Dolores. The Lord works in mysterious ways-sometimes suffering is part of His great plan. But never give up hope that things will work out for the better."

A few days later, Zorro Pequeno woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes are a piercing blue that makes Dolores shiver. She straightens her dress for the fourth time and adjusts the brim of her floppy bonnet.

"What?" she says defiantly.

"Why do you dress that way?" he asks. "You look ridiculous." She bristles, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She _liked _this dress.

"Because that's how you dress for Church," she hisses. He scoffs, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.

"Church? What do you worship?"

"We give praise to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," she says, as if it is common knowledge. He snorts, leaning forward.

"Oh really? And where are 'the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit?'" he asks, gesturing across the room with his hand. "I don't see them anywhere."

"They're in Heaven," she says, not liking the direction this conversation is headed. He stands, laughing hollowly and running a hand through his hair. He steps toward her and she steps back, fists clenching into the fabric of her dress.

"Heaven? Are you serious? You can't possibly believe in such an idiotic notion," he says, leaning forward as if to share with her a great secret. "There is no Heaven. There is no Father, no Son, no Holy Ghost. There is no God." She steps back from him as though he were on fire. She makes the symbol of the cross to protect herself.

"_Diablo," _she hisses. "That's blasphemy!"

"It's not blasphemous if it's the truth," he taunts. "You people are idiotic." With a cry, she lunges at him. He grunts from the force of the impact and falls to the ground. Her hat falls off of her head as she wildly swings at him.

"Take it back!" she says, hitting him across the face.

"No," he says past a swollen and bleeding lip. "I won't." She hits him harder at that. She keeps hitting him until her knuckles begin to split open. Blood stains her dress from the wounds of his her assault reopened. She hits him even harder as she realizes he isn't hitting her back.

"Fight back, _pollo!"_ she cries. She slaps him across the face. "Back up your blasphemy, _diablo!_"

"_Dolores!_" a harsh voice calls out from the hallway. In an instant, strong familiar arms link underneath her armpits and drag her off of the boy. She looks up to see the stern face of Padre as he carries her from the room. She sees Madre rush to the boy's side to help him up. He stands with a wince and looks at her with a pained expression. They make eye contact and she is struck again by the color of his eyes. He sticks his tongue out at her. She makes a face back at him, only to hear Padre's reprimand.

"Dios Mio, what on earth were you thinking?" Padre's voice booms as he drops her to her feet. She shrinks away from him, instead staring at the floor.

"He said God didn't exist," she mumbles, kicking at the floor. "Said Heaven wasn't real. Said my dress looked stupid." Padre sighs and she looks up to see him rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"'But I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also,'" he says.

"But he said-"

"I don't care what he said," he kneels down and places a hand on her shoulder. "Think of what he has been through. He needs kindness and understanding, not violence. Think of his wounds." She winces before nodding, looking down at the blood that stains her dress. Padre sighs, standing up.

"Get changed," he says. "And after the service, go to confession."

"Si, Padre," she says, her hands fisting in the fabric of her dress, trying to will away the blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Mass seems longer than usual in the run-down chapel the Judes call a church. The priest, Father Alvarez, speaks long and even longer on the virtues of forgiveness in these trying times. She sits with all of the other children, save for the newcomer who sits with Madre and Padre. He eyes her past the arms of Madre. She clenches her teeth and turns her eyes back to Father Alvarez. He keeps staring at her and it causes her brothers and sisters to whisper among themselves. She pulls the brim of her hat down in an effort to block him out.

After Mass, she goes straight to confession like Padre instructed. The line is long and the wait uncomfortable in the sweltering heat of the church. It seems that everyone in the tribe had sinned in the past week. When it is finally her turn her dress is stuck to her skin.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," Dolores starts in the way she was taught, bowing her head in humility. "It has been two months since my last confession."

"Tell me your sins, my child," Father Alvarez' voice comes from past the wooden grate that separates them. The confessional had not stood strong to the test of time and she can see his eyes twinkling through the larger holes of the grating.

"I have struck another in anger," she says.

"Again, my child?" Her head bows deeper in shame.

"Yes, Father."

"Tell me the circumstances."

"He said God didn't exist," she says in a weak protest. "Said that we were stupid for believing in Him." In a quieter voice, she adds, "He also made fun of my favorite dress."

"My child, we are not crusaders," Father Alvarez says. "We do not force our faith on the unwilling and we do not demean them for being gentiles. We especially do not strike our brothers and sisters in anger. This child, this boy, is your brother now, regardless of his lack of faith."

"Yes, Father."

"I want you to say ten Our Fathers and thirty Hail Marys." Her head snaps up at that.

"That's way more than last time!" The father's eyes narrow in disapproval and she bows her head again. "I mean, yes Father." He nods, seemingly satisfied.

"All right, little sorrow. God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

"Amen," she murmurs. "Gracias, Father." She leaves the confessional booth, walking past the various other members of the Judes who had to wait longer than she had. She walks the dirt road to her house, delaying the saying of her prayers by kicking the stones. When she enters her home, her mother is busy making Sunday lunch and her father stands by the stairs with his arms crossed.

"How did confession go?" he asks sternly. She averts her eyes to her mother, who is busily setting out plates for the family.

"Ten Our Fathers and thirty Hail Marys," she says. He nods, motioning to the stairs.

"Get your rosary and get to it." She can't stop the pout that her lip turns into.

"Why do I have to say so many Hail Marys?" she almost whines.

"Dolores," Padre starts but her mother interrupts.

"Madre Dolorosa has known the greatest of all sorrows by seeing her son, Jesus Christ, strung up on the Cross. You need to think of the sorrow you've wrecked upon that poor boy by your actions," Madre scolds. Dolores sucks in her lip and nods, marching up the stairs to gather her rosary. She stops at the top of the stairs and looks back to see Padre shake his head.

"She's meant to learn that herself, Celia," he scolds her in return. She shrugs, turning back to setting the table.

"God helps those who help themselves, but a little push every now and then doesn't hurt." Her brow furrows and she sets down the plate in her hands. "I'm worried that if this violence from her doesn't stop then there will be no redeeming her. Padre walks over and gathers her in his arms.

"Have faith," he whispers. "God works in mysterious ways. He has not forsaken Dolores-neither should you." Tears fill her eyes and she runs to her room. She grabs her rosary from her bed frame. It's an old and weathered thing that had seen better days. She'd had to put it back together many times but she told herself that it made it stronger, not weaker.

"I have to be better," she whispers. "Please, God, help me be better."


	4. Chapter 4

Dolores takes her rosary outside to pray underneath the honey mesquite tree in the yard. It is her favorite place to pray. The sunlight shines through the thin branches and she can almost feel like she is being touched by the hand of God Himself. She bends her head and begins to pray, saying the Our Fathers first, since she had the least of them. She worries the stones of her rosary between her fingers and fears that they may begin to disappear from overuse.

She ignores the bustling from her home and the scent of lunch as she says her Hail Marys. Her stomach growls and she gives it an absent tap. Her mouth becomes dry and her throat sore from her prayers but she pays it no mind. She will suffer as Jesus suffered in the desert.

She will be redeemed and stop making Madre sad.

"Hail Mary, full of grace," she says, stopping to cough. She eyes the new comer, Zorro Pequeno, standing by the door. He watches her with that same unnerving gaze made even more unnerving by those blue eyes. "Full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jes-what are you looking at?"

"You," he answers. The word is slurred past his swollen lip. She huffs and turns her body toward the honey mesquite tree.

"Come to make fun of me for my faith again?" she says harshly, and then winces. _We are not crusaders._

"No," he says. "I came to watch. I've never seen anyone pray quite like this." She huffs and goes back to her prayers. She glares at him.

"You made me lose my spot," she snarls. She turns back to the tree and looks down at her rosary. Would it be a sin to count that interrupted prayer as one? She sighs, thinking of Madre's sad voice.

Better not risk it.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women," she begins again. Zorro Pequeno moves closer to her and she tries to pay him no attention. "And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God-" she stops as a sweet roll is thrust in her face. Her stomach rumbles and her mouth waters from the smell. She turns her face away.

"You must be hungry," he says. She shakes her head.

"I have to say my prayers."

"Were you ordered to go without food until you finished?" he asks.

"Well, no."

"Then why wait? I'm sure God won't mind if you eat a little lunch." She looks at him, then at her rosary and then at the roll of bread he offers.

"You think so?" He nods, those strange eyes gleaming.

"He'd be a very sorry God if he didn't allow girls to eat when they were hungry, regardless of their sins." She thinks about his words for a moment before grabbing the roll and taking a vicious bite of it. She sighs in contentment after the first swallow. Dolores sees him watching her again and she clears her throat. He offers her water and she takes a tentative sip.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," she says. "Do you forgive me?"

"Now why should I?" he says, wiping bread crumbs from her chin. She flinches as though he hit her.

"Because you're supposed to," she says.

"Oh? Who says?"

"God says."

"And where does he say that?" he asks, seemingly amused.

"'For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.' It's in the book of Matthew." A smaller boy pops his head out of the doorway to the kitchen.

"Did you call me, Dolores?"

"No, Matty," she calls back. He nods and ducks back into the house. Zorro Pequeno chuckles.

"That's all well and good but I don't follow your religion. And I certainly won't do something just because a book I haven't read tells me I should."

"Fine," she huffs, taking another bite of the roll. "Don't forgive me. I'm still sorry." He laughs and, despite herself, she finds herself smiling.

"Well, since you're so sorry," he says, snatching the roll back from her. He takes a bite, despite her protests. "I guess I might be able to make an exception."

"Dolores! Zorro!" Madre calls, a soft smile on her face. "Come finish lunch before it gets cold!" Zorro Pequeno stands and the light shining through the branches of the honey mesquite tree dance over his face. Even as a gentile, the hands of God were touching him.

"Well?" he says, motioning to the house. Dolores smiles. Maybe God was watching over her, and she was going to be better.


	5. Chapter 5

Dolores only half-listens to Sister Ortega's teachings. It's all about the same thing anyway: the Glory of God, how God granted the strength to the ancestors to survive the Great War and make their place in what used to be the American Southwest, how they needed to give thanks and praise His name. She'd heard it all before. She'd heard it every day. She wanted to learn something _new _for once. She loved God but He got boring after a while. She rolls her eyes up to look at the ceiling.

"Sorry," she mouths. She continues to take notes on yellowed paper dutifully but her pencil strays every once and awhile to draw doodles of squiggly rosaries and disproportionate foxes.

"Hey," a voice startles her from beside her ear. She tries to slam her notebook shut but it gets snatched out of her hand by swift and nimble fingers. Zorro Pequeno flashes her an unapologetic grin and holds it open.

"I wonder what God would think about you not paying attention to Bible study," he muses as he takes in her drawings.

"Give me that," she says, only half-serious, swatting at it. He easily lifts it out of her grasp. "What do you care? You don't believe in Him anyway."

"No, I don't," he says. "But they still make me come to these boring classes."

"Madre and Padre don't want you to feel left out," she says. "And they aren't boring."

"Oh? Says the girl who has more tribal doodles than words," he says.

"Well," she starts reluctantly. "I already know this stuff.

"Hence, it's boring," he says with a smile. He looks around the beaten and ragged classroom. Most of the children had gone outside for their short break from studying Scripture. He places a hand on her desk and leans forward. He close enough that she can feel his breath dance across her cheek.

"Let's go on an adventure," he whispers excitedly. She gasps, looking around the classroom to see if anyone had heard him.

"You mean leave Bible study?" she whispers back. "That's sacrilege!" He rolls his eyes but the smile never leaves his face.

"Not if it's boring. Come on! It'll be fun!"

"I don't know," she says, her voice trailing off as he cups her chin.

"Dolores," he says seriously. "I would never get you in trouble, with God or anyone else." She lowers her eyes away from his intense gaze.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's not just a good idea. It's the _best _idea. Come on," he says, pulling away from her and holding out his hand for her to take."I wanna show you something." A hesitant smile breaks over her face and she takes his hand.


	6. Chapter 6

"We shouldn't be out here," Dolores whispers, pulling straw from her hair. Zorro Pequeno shoots her an annoyed look. The Bighorners grunt absently and mill around the field. They are still calm because they hadn't spotted the two children yet.

"I want to see the Bighorners," he whispers back eagerly. "I've never seen so many in one place."

"They're mean," she whispers back, eyeing the large horns of one of the males. "They'll run you through with those giant horns. It happened to a kid once." Zorro scoffs.

"I don't believe you."

"It's true!" she says indignantly. "They were picking up parts of him for days!"

"I can't see them," he says impatiently. He stands and leaves the cover of the haystack. She gasps when he leaves her sight.

"Zorro," she hisses. He doesn't answer her, so she calls a little louder. "_Zorro!_" A pitchfork leans against one of the fence posts. She tentatively steps out from the cover of the haystack, gripping the pitchfork tightly. She'll keep the Bighorners from hurting Zorro, even if she has to fight every last one. A Bighorner enters her line of vision and she sneaks toward it. She doesn't see Zorro and her stomach drops through her stomach. Oh no. What if he got _eaten_?

"What are you doing with that, _cazadore?_ Gonna make some Bighorner steak?" Zorro's voice sounds from above her.

"Are you dead?" she whispers, eyes darting across the sky.

"Look up, _pendeja._" She looks up to see the head of a Bighorner chewing grass absently. Zorro Pequeno leans over the Bighorner's forehead, holding on to the large horns.

"What are you doing up there?" she asks, amazed. "How did you even-?" Zorro shrugs carelessly.

"He likes me." The Bighorner makes eye contact with her as if seeing her for the first time. He growls, grass falling from his mouth as he bares his teeth. She takes a step back and tightens her grip on the pitchfork. She levels it at the Bighorner, growling back at him. Zorro Pequeno's eyes flash coldly and he tugs at the fur on the Bighorner's head.

"No," he says forcefully. "Don't hurt her or I'll make you regret it." The Bighorner whines, eyes darting wildly up at him and back at her. The Bighorner takes another step toward her and Zorro tugs his fur again.

"_No,"_ he says dangerously, and the tone of his voice causes her to shiver. The Bighorner whines and plops down on the grass. Zorro smiles blissfully and all trace of the coldness he exhibited earlier is gone. He motions her over and she cautiously begins to walk toward him.

"Do you want to pet him?" he asks kindly. She nods.

"Yes," she says. He pats the top of the Bighorner's head.

"Come on," he breathes. "He won't hurt you." She eyes the pitchfork still clenched in her hands and sets it down gently on the grass. She reaches out a hand to pet the Bighorner. He snorts loudly and she jerks her hand away. Zorro's hand wraps around her wrist.

"Don't be scared," he says, tugging her hand over. "He won't hurt you. I won't let him." Her hand hovers over the fur and he pulls it down. A smile covers her face as she gently scratches the top of the Bighorner's head.

"Wow," she says, looking up at Zorro. "Neat." He grins, leaning over to whisper almost secretively.

"It is, isn't?"

"How did you do that?" she asks in awe, turning to look at him.

"He likes me," he says simply. "Everyone likes me."

"You're likable enough," she says teasingly. "But you have your moments." He pouts, tracing her knuckles with his finger.

"You don't like me?" She laughs, her fingers curling in the Bighorner's fur.

"I never said that," she says. "When did I say that?" He leans forward and she pulls back with a small squeak. His hand moves from her wrist to tangle his fingers with hers.

"So you _do _like me," he says as if there is no question about it.

"I never said that either," she says. He laughs, showing his teeth. He's so close and she feels her face heating up. She doesn't know it he continues speaking because the sound of her heart thundering in her ears is all she can focus on. He leans forward and she can count the cracks in his lips.

"Hey!" a loud and crashing voice yells. She and Zorro jump alongside the Bighorner. The big horner, no longer docile, growls and stands up from his place in the grass. Dolores holds her arms out and pulls Zorro off of the raging animal. They take off running through the field, away from the farmer and his angry Bighorners.

Zorro grabs her hand and doesn't let go until they are out of sight.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Zorro," she pants as they run. He pulls her over jagged little hills and loose dirt. She stumbles, working hard to keep her balance. "Where are we going? Zorro!" He shushes her, pulling her further along. She looks behind her shoulder to see the farmer and his Bighorner have long faded in the distance.

"Where are we?" she asks again. He doesn't answer except to shush her. Anger wells up in her at the casual way he dismisses her. She forcefully pulls her hand away from his. "Don't you _shush _me, Zorro! Where are we? We have to get home, its almost time for dinner!" That's when he stops and looks at her. She glowers at him.

"You're hungry?" he asks as if the thought hadn't ever occurred to him.

"Yes!" she says. She is also afraid of how upset their parents would be when the two of them arrived home late but she didn't dare say that. He nods to himself and looks up into the branches of a large tree. He jumps up with a lithe limberness to his movements and begins climbing the tree.

"Zorro!" she says, alarmed. "Get back down here!"

"Just a minute," he grunts, his voice sounding higher up than Dolores thought it would. She stands and tries not to panic. What if one of the branches breaks and he falls? She shudders, trying to shake the image of Zorro falling and breaking his neck from her mind. What is he _doing _up in a tree, anyway?

"What are you doing?" she calls. He doesn't answer and she stamps her foot, ignoring the crack of a fallen twig. "We kind of have more important things to worry about besides climbing trees, you know-" Something lands on her head with a hard thud and pain blossoms on the top of her head.

"_Hijo de puta,"_ she hisses, speaking words that usually got her a ruler to the wrist and five Hail Marys. She rubs the top of her head and glowers up into the tree as she hears Zorro laugh, the brat. Something else falls to the ground from the tree and rolls to the stop at her feet. The redness of it contrasts sharply against the dull brown of the ground. She bends over to pick it up.

"An apple?" she says, brushing the dirt off of it. Leaves fall around her and she hears the rustling of branches. Zorro lands on his feet in front of her.

"To keep you from being hungry until we get home," he says. "I really don't want to listen to your whining." She huffs and it takes all of her willpower to take a bite out of the apple instead of throwing it at him.

"Oh yeah, smarty pants? Where _is _home? Do you know how to get back?" He doesn't answer her for a while and she chews on her apple furiously. "Yeah, I thought so."

"I can get us back," he says. "You just have to trust me."

"I did that and look at where that led," she says. "We're in the middle of nowhere." She ignores the slightly hurt look that flits across his face, instead turning toward the setting sun.

"It's going to get dark soon," she says, unable to keep the worry from her voice. She walks toward a small grove of trees clustered together. Her mother always said that they were far from what they had been before the Great Fire. However, the few healthy trees and the rest of the ones with meager leaves struggling to survive were more than what they deserved so they should always be thankful. She reaches up and tugs a honey mesquite pod from a low hanging and nearly broken branch.

Zorro stays silent as the two of them begin walking. Neither of them know where they are or where they're going. All Dolores can think about is getting home. She no longer cares that her parents will be furious with them for skipping Bible study to play with Bighorners and running off to get lost. She just wants to see them and her brothers and sisters.

_Matty,_ she thinks. Her youngest brother, at five years old, absolutely adored her. And she loved him more than anything she could think of. She thinks with a tinge of guilt that she should work harder to be a better example for him. What would he do if she ended up dying out here?

A campfire glitters up ahead in the darkness and Dolores feels that she could fall to her knees in thanks to the Holy Ghost.

"Zorro," she says. "There's fire up there. Maybe they can help us get home." In the dimness, his blue eyes shine with something she's never seen in the entire time she's known him: fear.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he says. A little annoyed, she answers,

"I don't see why not. They're probably from our tribe. This is the Judes' territory." Her tribe hadn't had to fight any other tribes in almost a decade. They had mastered the art of peaceful negotiation, her father said. That is probably the biggest reason he always looks so upset whenever she acts out of violence. Pushing those thoughts from her head, she walks over to the ledge of the small hill to call the people around the campfire.

A hand wraps around her mouth as she opens it and she is pulled roughly to the ground. She grunts in protest but Zorro voice hisses by her ear.

"_Shut up!_" She looks up at him and back to the group around the campfire. Men in strange armor mill about. Some of them have their heads together conversing and she can barely catch a few words here and there. Some of them are Latin, like in the prayers they said in church, but she doesn't recognize any of the speakers. They are all men and they are not from her tribe.

"Who are they?" she whispers against Zorro's hand.

"Romans," he says sagely, his voice trembling just the slightest bit.

"Romans? Like the ones that crucified us in the Before Times?" she asks. Images of Jesus strung up on the cross flash through her mind and she shudders. Zorro holds her closer to him, his hand moving from her mouth to hold her hand.

"Yeah," he says, swallowing. "The same ones. If they find us, they'll feed us to the lions."

"Lions don't exist anymore," she says, although she doesn't really know that for sure.

"If they can't find any lions, they'll pick something worse," he says, holding her tighter. "And they'll hurt you in a special way. We can't go down there."

"How do you know so much about the Romans?" she asks. He looks down at her and she feels her heart pound wildly in her chest. Something cold flashes across his blue eyes before he answers and it sends shivers down her spine. He opens his mouth to answer before snapping his head up. He pulls her underneath a jalapeño bush to hide her as one of the Romans walks close to the ledge they were looking over. _The Romans are going to find us,_ she thinks. And nothing God or Jesus or the Virgin Mary could do to save them. The panic in her eyes must have been visibly even in the dark because Zorro gives her a small smile and cups her cheek.

"You'll be safe with me," he says and the sound of his voice works to soothe her in spite of the Roman's thundering footsteps. "I swear it."


End file.
